


Smooth Sailing (DJ Unrepentant Remix)

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Norrington's induction into the crew of the Black Pearl did not go entirely without issue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smooth Sailing (DJ Unrepentant Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curiouslyfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/gifts).
  * Inspired by [An Utter Lack of Contrition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917257) by [curiouslyfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic). 



Ex-Commodore Norrington was eating his dinner alone when Anamaria found him. She eyed him up and down as he took spoonfuls of stew and deliberately ignored her, staring off into the horizon and somehow looking, despite his surroundings, as though he were still dressed in uniform.

"I hate you," she said without preamble.

He continued to ignore her.

She put her foot up on the pile of rope he was sitting on, leaning dangerously into his personal space and nudging his arse with the tip of her boot. "I despise you. One of these nights I'm going to cut your liver out and feed it to you raw."

Norrington took another bite of stew and sighed slightly.

Anamaria scowled and leaned closer. "I'm going to brand you with a hot iron. I'm going to chain you to the mast in a hurricane--naked. I'm going to plaster you with tar and let the rest of the crew have a go at flogging you. I'm going to drag you behind the ship by the anchor chain. I'm going to shove a live eel up your arse and fill your ears with spiders. I'm going to have Tia Dalma put a curse on you so you piss acid and come gravel."

He did look up at that last one, then actually turned and gave her an inquiring and slightly nervous look.

She nodded, slowly.

Norrington sighed and rested his plate of stew on his knee. "In all fairness," he said, "I didn't know it would make him worse."

Now it was her turn for an incredulous look.

"Well," Norrington amended, "Given how impossible Sparrow is at the best of times, could I really be blamed for a lack of imagination as to what he would be like stone sober?"

"Typical," she said. "Trust the navy."

Norrington turned his gaze back to his interrupted meal. "We'll make port in a few days and he'll be right back to his usual... self."

"Until you throw the whole store of rum overboard again?"

He met her gaze with a mild smile. "I may suffer from a lack of imagination compared to some of the crew, but you surely don't think I'd try the same gambit twice?"

Anamaria scowled deeper.

"Besides," Norrington said evenly, "I suspect he'd be prepared for me this time."

Typical navy, ignoring the real problem. "You make this right," she said, clearly and forcefully, "Or we will never have peace on this ship again."

"Again?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

She crossed her arms and stared him down.

Norrington was the best starer she'd ever seen, but he eventually looked away. "If Sparrow agrees to behave in a manner more becoming of a superior officer toward a member of his crew, and tenders an apology for the property of mine that he--" and here he bit off the next word with a mixture of relish and homicidal rage, " _mutilated_ , I'll perform whatever tasks are necessary to mollify his temper."

"You promise that?" Anamaria said, cautious as always around a possible good thing.

Norrington met her eyes again. " _You_ have my word," he said. Then he looked down and muttered, "And Sparrow would, too, if he asked properly for it."

"I'll settle for that," she told him, and turned her back on him sharply.

* * *

She'd gone to Norrington first, because Norrington was used to thinking while sober. Jack was lying on the table in his quarters, both hands and his hat over his face, and groaning.

"You need water," she told him.

"I need rum," he said, and then, "Who let you in here?"

"I let me in," she said. "Stop moaning. You're the captain."

"I will murder each one of you lily-livered mutineers," Jack enunciated carefully, "For not keeping a better eye on my rum."

"You brought 'im aboard, Captain," she reminded him. "And after all of us said no."

Jack pointed at her, then sat up, a process taking several minutes and a careful rearrangement of torso, limbs, head, and hat. Finally he was squinting at her, one hand balancing his hat in place on his head and possibly his head on his torso. "Did I? Doesn't sound like me."

"You did," she said.

"Why would I allow a treacherous, rum-stealing, petty-minded martinet with no sense of humor on board my ship?" Jack's eyes rolled back and forth unsteadily until they focused again on Anamaria. "Sounds suspicious."

"You were drunk."

"That, at least, sounds right. That is the most sensible thing you have said since stepping inside that door." He scowled again and wobbled backwards precipitously. "Where is Mr. Gibbs? He has something I need."

"Captain," she reminded him, hand on the knife in her belt, "Articles say a man's drink is off limits to the Captain."

"Articles say a Captain's drink is off limits to his rum-stealing crew! At least, they should do." Jack narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Would have thought that went without saying."

Anamaria waited, but Jack made no further move to leaving his perch, so she put her hand down. "Captain, navy man says he'll behave if you stop bellyaching and apologize."

"Man comes on board my ship in a bloody wig!" Jack exclaimed, "A wig and a navy coat and waving that letter of marque. Like we're respectable!"

"You signed it," Anamaria reminded him again.

"Why would I do a respectable thing like that? And why didn't you stop me?" He pointed at her and scowled magnificently. "And don't say I was drunk."

Anamaria thought for a few moments. "I was drunk?" she offered.

"Bloody commodore," Jack grumbled. "Bloody wig. Glad I burned the damn thing."

Burning was only the last part of a series of public actions taken against Norrington's wig that Jack had performed, after which Norrington had disappeared for less than an hour and reappeared looking fresh and innocent of summarily emptying every single dram of rum from the ship's--and indeed, Jack's own--stores. Anamaria was beginning to regret laughing at the whole spectacle.

"You say you're sorry, captain," she said, "This whole thing gets behind us, and you get more rum."

"He says he's sorry," Jack snapped back at her.

"You both say you're sorry, we go back to running a bloody ship," Anamaria countered.

Jack glared at her. She stared back.

"Fine," he said, throwing his hands up. "Let's hear the ex-commodore's commodious apology, and then we can go back to piracy against the..." he frowned down at the table and then squinted as though trying to make sense out of the wood grain. "Who is it we're supposed to be pirating against, again?"

"French?" Anamaria guessed.

"Sounds right," Jack said. "I'm sure Norrington will say something if we're wrong."

* * *

Captain Sparrow stared at James across the table for a long moment before removing his feet from the table, sitting up in his chair, and pouring a glass of clear liquid from the nearby pitcher.

"Water?" Sparrow offered, apparently casual.

"No thank you, _Captain,_ " James replied.

"Well, then, Mr. Norrington," Sparrow said, lifting the glass. He put the rim of the glass to his lips and tilted the liquid into his mouth, swallowing slowly, his eyes never leaving James'. James kept himself silent and watched the line of Sparrow's throat until he'd drank the last of the water and raised the glass from his lips again. "Ahh, where were we."

"It's not going to transmute to alcohol through force of will," James couldn't help saying.

"And whose fault is that, eh?" Sparrow slammed the glass down on the table. "You committed a grave injustice against this ship, her captain, and her crew. How do you plead?"

"You already sentenced me to swabbing the decks until you change your mind or, and I quote, 'until the bloody Atlanteans rise from the ocean with a barrel of Ambrosia,'" James reminded him calmly.

"Right, forgot about them," Sparrow muttered. "Bloody fish--anyway. Your position in this crew as a rum-thieving deck swabbie is in jeopardy. Tender a proper apology and I might be disposed to be lenient toward you."

"You--" James caught himself before Sparrow made him lose his dignity in a yelp, but only just. "You want me to tender you an apology."

"Oh, I insist," Sparrow said.

James took a moment to gather his breath. "One might be forgiven for thinking an apology was _also_ owed for the flagrant destruction of a crew member's personal belongings."

"One might?" Sparrow stared at him as though bewildered, then looked around his cabin seeking support for that supposition. "Might one?"

"Indeed."

Sparrow pursed his mouth and gave James a searching look. "It appears that we are at something of an impasse."

"We may be."

"Give me a good reason not to kick you off my ship."

James grinned fiercely. "I take the letters of marque with me."

"Don't need 'em," Sparrow responded, a shade too quickly.

"Well, is there a reason I shouldn't lead the crew in replacing you as the captain?"

Sparrow's answering glare was murderous. "I'm captain of this ship," he said with deadly seriousness.

"By what virtues, no one can quite discover," James said evenly.

"Oh," Sparrow said, suddenly grinning a wicked flash of teeth and relaxing back in his chair, arching his chest in a catlike movement. "There are fair few virtues involved, mate."

James narrowed his eyes and considered his position very carefully.

"Perhaps a mutual agreement," he said slowly.

Sparrow raised his eyebrows.

"A compromise," James clarified. "An understood apology."

Sparrow frowned thoughtfully.

"With a gesture of good intentions. From each of us."

"Hmmmm," Sparrow hummed. "One pick, each of us, for a gesture the other has to perform?"

James hesitated for a long moment before girding his loins and nodding. "Within the bounds of sanity, if such a thing exists on this ship," he said cautiously.

"Not including the purchase of rum," Sparrow said, warming to his theme, "Which, as it was the ship's general store and not merely an action against my personal property, it is your business to contribute to as the actor against the aforementioned communal resources."

"Accepted," James said.

"Good!" Sparrow grinned. "I choose pie."

For a moment, James thought he had misheard. "What?"

"For your gesture of good intentions. One pie. Delivered. To me."

James blinked several times, but it didn't clear his vision of Sparrow's smirk. "Very well, then," he said slowly, trying to cover his racing thoughts. "What kind?"

"Surprise me." Sparrow suddenly looked concerned. "No, wait. Sweet pies only. No eels."

"No eel pie. Understood." James rolled his eyes. "Anything else?"

"One gesture." Sparrow waved his hand languidly. "Now, Mr. Norrington. Surprise me. What do you want from your Captain?"

James smiled tightly. "Supper."

Sparrow's face went slack with surprise, a victory in itself. "Sorry?"

"I haven't had one good meal since I joined your crew, Sparrow, and I'd like you to provide one." James crossed his arms across his chest and smirked. "Possibly you'll feel like sharing the pie I provide for dessert."

Sparrow scowled petulantly and gave him a look of dire portentousness. "That's my pie."

"Indubitably."

He waited. Sparrow visibly considered his options, then smiled. "Done."

"Until we reach port, then," James said evenly, and turned on his heel and left before he said anything else stupid.

* * *

As soon as the Black Pearl docked and the captain paid the docking bribe, the crew scattered. Except for the poor buggers who had drawn lots to keep watch, everyone headed for their favorite pub or whorehouse or pub/whorehouse, to spend the little money they'd plundered from the couple ships they'd taken in the last few months.

Anamaria grabbed Gibbs as soon as they were off the dock and set him to trailing Norrington.

"Why me?" he complained, eyeing the sign for the Rose and Raindrop longingly.

"Because I'm following the captain," she said, giving him a shove. "C'mon, meet me back here after dark."

In fact, they didn't have to wait for dark. She followed Captain Sparrow through a couple of kitchens, watching him collect an entire meal's worth of roast chicken, fresh fruit, poached shrimp, and heavenly-smelling bread. He had it all tightly wrapped and then mostly loaded into a sack, which he slung along with seeming unconcern, though Anamaria noticed he never quite managed to knock it into anyone.

Then he returned to the Pearl and told the watchmen to bugger off.

The reprieved crew nearly ran into Norrington as they scampered down the dock. Norrington was carrying his own package, with a considerable amount more care than Sparrow had, and he adroitly maneuvered around the excited crewmen and up the gangplank after the captain.

Gibbs shot Anamaria a confused look. She shrugged. "Looks like a condemned man's last supper to me," she said.

"He bought pie," Gibbs relayed.

Anamaria stared at him for a moment, sure she'd misheard. "Pie?"

"Apple," Gibbs confirmed, nodding.

She thought that over for a moment, then pulled her spyglass out of her back pocket. "Right," she said, taking a look at the sweep of the port and the shape of the inlet. "That way. Let's go take a look."

"I still don't know why we're doing this," Gibbs grumbled once again when they'd set themselves on a small rock a few hundred yards out into the water, from which they could spy right into the windows of the captain's quarters.

"Something is definitely going on," she said, raising the spyglass to her eye.

"So the man wants a nice meal," Gibbs grumbled.

"And the captain's giving him one?" Anamaria snorted. "Likely."

Gibbs made a noise of reluctant agreement. "Perhaps... they came to some kind of understanding."

"'Haps captain's sweet on 'im," Anamaria muttered darkly. "That spread looks good."

Gibbs appeared to give that comment a considerable amount of thought. "I wouldn't think he's, er, the captain's type."

Anamaria snorted. "Breathing?"

"Well, that," Gibbs admitted. "What are they doing?"

"Talking," she reported. She frowned and swung the glass from one end of the table to the other. "Captain's talking. Norrington's eating."

Gibbs took a long pull from his flask. "Does he seem like he's listening?"

"Sort of. Hard to tell with that one." She frowned. "You knew 'im when. Was he ever... y'know. The type to play someone's cabin boy?"

He frowned back. "Y'mean... volunteer for the midshipmen?"

"Coil rope for the other sailors?"

"Sling a hammock on the lee side?"

"Wash his smallclothes in the public bath?"

"Take a midnight watch for a favor?"

"Did he fuck men, Gibbs," she finally snapped, exasperated.

Gibbs shrugged. "I suppose so," he said. "Does that matter?"

She looked through the glass again and thought about it. "If the way the captain's drinking his wine is any indication, it might help."

"Oh, give me that," Gibbs said, passing her the flask and taking the spyglass from her. She took a thoughtful swig and coughed a couple times as he focused the lens. "Well, this doesn't seem to be going too well."

"Does it?"

"Mmm, Norrington doesn't seem to be listening to a thing the captain's said," Gibbs said. "That supper, though. Looks a meal and a half." He cleared his throat pointedly. "We can still make the Rose and Raindrop--"

"Oh, give me that back if you want to leave," she grumbled.

He sighed and swung the glass back to the other side of the room. "Captain's getting anxious," he said. "The way he's fidgeting."

"That's just the captain," Anamaria said.

"True, but," Gibbs said, "There's a particular current underlaying this fidgeting, you want my professional opinion."

"That's what I asked you here for," she said, helping herself to another sip from his flask. It went down warmer the second time. "What about Norrington?"

Gibbs frowned and looked back the other way. "Still not saying anything. But I think he's listening."

"Listening?" Anamaria frowned. "How can you tell?"

"You can see his head move," Gibbs reported. "Oh--oh."

"Oh?"

"That got to him," Gibbs said. "He's got that look."

Anamaria perked up. "You think he'll go for it?"

"Hard to say." He angled the spyglass back again. "Captain's noticed."

"Has he, now." She smirked. "Norrington's done for."

"Not sure." He hummed as he watched. "Jack's being careful. Trying not to let on."

"And the commodore?"

"Ex-commodore," Gibbs corrected, but he moved the lens back. "Hmm."

"Leave me in suspense," she grumbled.

"Not sure," he said.

"Oh, give me that back," she said, handing him back his flask. Then, "Hm."

"See what I mean?"

She watched for a minute, then shook her head. "That has to be deliberate," she said. "No one eats shrimp like that by accident."

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Fair point."

"And..." she turned the spyglass on the captain. "Oh. Oh no. Captain wants to argue."

"Ah, bloody hell," Gibbs groaned. "Jack..."

"He's arguing," she said. "Blast. And now the commodore's on his feet."

"If he punches the captain we're out that letter of marque," Gibbs said, and took a long pull from his flask.

"And all that rum," Anamaria sighed.

They took a moment to consider that possibility.

"I don't think he'll punch him," she said, putting the glass back to her eye. "Jack's on his feet too, they look like they're arguing, but I don't see any physical--"

"What?" Gibbs said, head perking up. "What happened?"

"I don't think they'll be eating the rest of that supper," she said slowly, as the captain's hat got knocked across the table. Then she winced. "Or that pie."

"Ah?" Gibbs said.

Anamaria smirked and collapsed the spyglass. "They have other things on their minds," she said. "Hands full, as it were."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. "They're fucking, Gibbs."

"Ah," he said, smirking. "Thought so."

"Rose and Raindrop, then?" she asked. "I think I owe you a pint."


End file.
